


The Way that We Fall (and Get Back Up)

by dragonnan



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Bad Touch, Blink and You'll Miss It Avengers Civil War Reference, Blink and You'll Miss It Daredevil Reference, Blink and You'll Miss It Spiderman Homecoming Reference, Christine is Wonderful and Underrated, Epic Friendship, Gen, MCU compliant, NO rape, Non-Consensual, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Possible Triggering Elements, Set Loosely Between Doctor Strange and Infinity Wars, Sexual Assault, Stephen is a Bastard But He Deserves Better, The Cloak is a Good bro, Vulnerability, Wong is the Literal Best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: There's an interesting thing about pain.  Whether it's physical or emotional - the most notable aspect is how it can change you.  It can make the confident begin to question everything.  It can humble the proud, bring fear to the brave, and cause people to make choices they'd have never have considered, before.  Pain made Stephen a hero; but it didn't happen overnight.  The hurts he's accumulated are his to bear.  More than that, he doesn't like to think about them.So why, in the hell, would he want to talk about them?





	The Way that We Fall (and Get Back Up)

When he spoke, it was always from a position of power; strength. He attended speaking engagements in order to instruct professionals, in the field, on methods he'd developed. Just by spending one evening at a dais he was potentially saving thousands of lives.

He didn't talk about personal problems. Who would he talk to, at any rate? Not Christine. He wanted to enjoy her company – not bore her with things that just didn't matter. Not his colleagues; his personal life was not fodder for their gossip. His patients were just grateful to have someone brilliant to save their lives. It was enough that they survived to thank him.

Besides, any problems were in the past. The present was what mattered. The future was what he was looking forward to. 

His star could only rise.

~~~~~ ۞ 1 Year Later ۞ ~~~~~

Watercolor gold had given way to indigo with the spreading night. It was an amazing view. The best.

Other than when he was asleep, he told the staff to keep his blinds open. Save for his childhood, he had always lived above the city – finding calm in his ability to see everything spread out before him. He could spend hours watching the cars passing below – the people – the life. Christine had, on several occasions, commented on his propensity to “gaze upon his kingdom from the parapets”. He didn't see it that way. He just... there was a peace to it. Yeah, sure, it was New York so there was no denying the ugliness that existed in the shadows. The headlines on his phone inevitably led off with articles regarding crime – explosions in Hell's Kitchen, shootings, gang violence. But, above it all, he felt as though he could see the city for everything that it was meant to be. He could see the potential... the grandeur... the beauty.

His eyes slid to his hands – shaking against the bedding. Sighing, he shifted his focus to the muted set on the opposite wall. Yet another report about the Sokovia Accords. They'd been talking about that for weeks, now. 

Stephen had watched a lot of television, recently. Beat the hell out of staring at his hands; colors fading from black and purple to yellow and green. Even calling in favors to Doctor Cho hadn't been enough to reverse the damage that had sunk in too deep. The bones may have knitted but the permanence of destroyed nerves was something he wasn't, yet, willing to accept.

A soft knock didn't wait for an answer as his door was pushed open. Not even he was spared the ignobility of regular bed checks.

“Knock knock!” Repeated unnecessarily and far too perky for that time of the evening. Christine he tolerated – she wasn't overly given to platitudes for all that she strived to point him towards the bright side of things. As if there could possibly be a bright side to a chronic disability that not only claimed his career but wouldn't even let him take a piss unaided. On that note it had been four days since he'd seen blood in his urine. So there was that.

“How are we doing tonight, Stephen?”

He was asked the same question nearly every time a nurse, physical therapist, or colleague came into his room. “Peachy.” He muttered. He angled a glance at the woman's name tag. Alicia. Dark brown, curly, hair, brown eyes, freckles... He didn't recognize her ie she hadn't been in his room, previously, unless it had been while he was unconscious. Not a surprise, really; he'd managed to alienate most of the hospital staff on his floor. “Alicia, how about we cut through the pleasantries. I'm not hungry, but I do need the bathroom, and I'm in significant pain. Now, if you wouldn't mind getting someone to assist me to the toilet, I would really appreciate it. Afterwards I'll need ten ccs of morphine.”

Alicia smiled. “That's okay; I can help you with that.”

Stephen looked up and down her petite form before lifting an eyebrow. “Uh... yeah. Look, if it's all the same, I think Gavin is manning the nursing station. If you could just...”

“Look, Stephen,” she dropped her hands to her hips and tilted her head at him, “I may be small but trust me, I will have no problem hauling your skinny butt across the floor. So, come one, let's get you sat up.” Sliding his rolling table out of the way, she placed a hand at his back and another around his upper arm while he shuffled himself sideways until his legs could swing down to the floor. He closed his eyes through the vertigo – holding a breath at the nausea that followed.

“You okay?” Asked not unkindly and, rather than sarcasm, he merely nodded. He could postpone the attitude until after he'd emptied his bladder. 

It took five minutes of pained grunts, shaky steps, and leaning rather more heavily against slim shoulders than he'd intended. While they weren't broken his legs had been severely bruised and walking, still, was yet another agony. Alicia kept her hands on his elbows while he slid his feet across the linoleum. Once he was in the bathroom; hospital gown lifted out of the way and one arm braced on Alicia's shoulders, his eyes focused on the shower stall. Standing in front of the flipped up seat he allowed the tiny woman to, literally, handle the rest. He could confirm that every time was just as humiliating as the first. No need to wash his own hands, he waited while Alicia cleaned up; disposing of her used gloves. Then, his legs wobbling, she took his weight and led him back to the bed.

He groaned as his body settled onto the mattress. Leaving the room for a moment, Alicia returned with Gavin. He was given the requested pain medication as well as the required nightly dose of pills. After he was asked, again, if he wanted anything to eat; again refusing, the senior nurse returned to his station. It only took moments before the morphine seeped into his limbs and the relived sensation of pain easing back allowed him to take a full breath. He even smiled.

“Thank you.”

Alicia grinned in return. “You're welcome! Now, is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?”

He shook his head; closing his eyes as the medication added weight to his body and haze to his brain. “No 'm good...” He managed; licking his lips.

“Are you sure?”

He cracked one eye at Alicia, who had tilted her head. “I just mean...” She brushed the overgrown hair from his eyes. “Look, I had a boyfriend, once, who burned his hands in a grease fire at the kitchen where he worked. It took months for him to heal and he never got back full range of motion. The thing was... everything was hard for him. For some things it was easier for him to ask for help. Shaving, dressing – stuff like that. But some things...” She smirked, her eyes kind. “Let's just say I understand why you wouldn't want to ask someone.”

Frowning, now, Stephen struggled to assemble the sudden rush of backstory into anything that resembled a point. Pushing back the blur as well as he was able, he sighed. “Okay, Alicia? I appreciate whatever it is that you're trying to offer but the only thing I need, right now, is sleep.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Alicia moved close to the side of his bed until she could rest one hip on the mattress. With her right hand she brushed back her thick curls. “I don't mean to be vague – I'm sorry. If... if I could just...” Biting her lip, she took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, I don't want to embarrass you. I know what it can be like, for guys. Especially someone like you.”

Weird couldn't touch the bizarreness of this conversation. “What... 'bout guys like me?” Amazing he could still feel his lips. The level of morphine in his blood was more than enough to put him out for the rest of the night. 

Alicia pushed the hair back again. “I mean, it's no secret you like a good time. Every week you have a different woman on your arm. And that's totally okay!” She quickly reassured. “I'm not a prude. I don't care who sleeps with who – it's none of my business. Just... the point I'm getting at is that its been weeks, now, that you've been stuck here. I can only imagine that, with your hands like that, it has to have gotten...” she nudged up a shoulder, “frustrating.”

Wow – alright, now they'd really gone far afield and he couldn't say he was a fan of the way his arms prickled over with gooseflesh. Through a wobbling surge of vertigo he watched her pull on a pair of hospital issue gloves. “Alicia, I think... you should...”

“No, it's okay.” She stood, and in that short moment, Stephen let out a hard breath of relief. And then Alicia pulled back his blanket. “I'm not telling you anything you wouldn't already know about the benefits of stimulation. It floods the body with oxytocin and even can provide some pain relief!” She leaned down to lower the angle of the bed. “I promise this will remain completely clinical. This is just another treatment; nothing more.” 

“H-hold on, wait-” His head felt like it was tied off on the end of a post. While he struggled for clarity he couldn't help but sag against his pillow.

Alicia tried to pull up his gown but it was pinned beneath his legs. Giving it a sudden, sharp, tug she loosened it enough slide it up his waist. Stephen grunted at the pain that shot through his pelvis as his injuries were jarred.

“Oh, I'm sorry! Don't worry – you'll feel a lot better very soon.” She pushed his knees apart. 

“Alicia, stop!”

She did, thank God... Breathing heavily, somewhat less muddled with the surge of panicked adrenalin, Stephen held his trembling hands out towards her. Her face was a melting blob so he aimed his stare towards what he believed were her eyes. “Listen, I... I don't need any help...”

She smiled. Her hands were resting on his thighs – her palms warm against his skin and, fuck his life, because when she rubbed her thumbs against the softer, inner flesh, he bucked his hips. “It's alright. I know how much your body needs this.” She winked. “You know how gossip can move through a hospital like a brush fire and, Stephen?” Her eyebrows raised while her fingers kneaded his legs, “it was sort of an open secret that your... indiscretions... were the match that kept it lit.” 

Anger pumped in his chest as her hands shifted towards his waist. “Get. Off. Me!” 

She held her palms out, placating, and he dropped back against his pillow with a shudder. She hadn't, however, stepped away. “You know, I'm surprised that you aren't more... up for this.”

Still breathing heavily, Stephen creased a glare. “What?” He shook his head; managing to clear some of the muddle from his head. “Look, just leave. Before I call for security.”

Rather than listen, Alicia moved closer – her thigh pressing against his outer leg. “That's how you like to handle it, don't you.” She said, still in that easy conversational tone. “Let others clean up your problems. After all, big, important surgeon like you? God forbid you handle things yourself.” Her hand darted out and grasped him in a vice.

Stephen grunted and bucked again – both hands wrapping around her wrist in spite of the crushing pain. “Let... GO!” His fingers spasmed and the tremors soon began to travel into his forearms. 

Her face going curious, Alicia tilted her head. “You remember my boyfriend I'd mentioned earlier? Ask me where he worked before becoming a line cook at a shitty cafe in the Bronx.” Her hand squeezed breathtakingly tight.

“Let... go of me!”

In reply, a fingernail dug in and his head slammed backward at the dangerous flip in his gut. 

“Umph – w-where did... did he...”

“Metro General. Ask me why he no longer works there.”

Stephen tried to twist from her grip but lancing pain through his groin triggered icy sweat and a pooling heat of nausea. Leaning close, Alicia waited until his eyes met hers – her voice seeping out in a whisper. “Ask me.”

“W-why doesn't he... mmmm... w-work here...”

Her hold loosened, just enough, and Stephen panted as the pain ebbed back from unbearable.

Alicia's jaw wobbled, only for a moment, before she tightened her molars. “Because he made a mistake. His name was Derek James. Do you remember him?” At the soft tone, her hand began to move – rubbing almost absently – like someone drumming their nails. Stephen groaned, feeling the muscles in his abdomen jump as he, once more, tried to push her away.

“Please...”

She stilled but didn't release him. “He'd started working here about a year after his Residency. Once he had his license, he was hired on to assist in the cardiology department. Everybody said his star could only rise. Everything seemed so... perfect.” She grinned. “I mean, people say things like that and maybe it's stupid... but it really was, you know?” Her hand began moving again but her eyes were distant. Stephen dug his heels into the mattress but couldn't get away from her touch. Yet the risk of setting her off was a wrenching prospect, so he bit into his cheek and clenched his hands – purposefully triggering pain. “He lost someone, about six months after he joined the department. It should have been routine but sometimes... sometimes things just go wrong.” Stephen's hands shook violently, now, and it took everything within him not thrust with the maddening movements of her hand. 

“You should remember that incident. Woman in her forties, arterial blockage; operation was a success but she ended up dying the next day from complications.”

Stephen ground his teeth. “Your boyfriend... was att-tempting an operation using a brand new procedure for which he had not p-properly trained. He screwed up and that woman died!” 

This time he shouted at the sudden throb spearing through his pelvis and her free hand crushed against his mouth so hard that he was amazed he didn't taste blood. “You reported him to the review board! They were falling all over themselves to find a scapegoat and you dished him up like it was nothing!” 

Gaping as her hand continued to tighten around him, he arched his spine – desperate to escape the pressure. One of his hands clawed at the fingers mashing his lips while the other pushed uselessly at the hand crushing his manhood. His breaths pumped air through his nose; eyes wild and glazed in fear. A constricted whimper scraped from his chest. 

Apparently content with the effect of her actions, Alicia eased off the slightest bit. But there was no relief as she, once more, resumed the same, horrid movements. The edge of her hand had partially blocked his nostrils and Stephen bucked for a different reason; legs kicking aimlessly as he scrambled for every breath he could managed.

“About a month ago we were getting ready for bed. He came over to my side after brushing his teeth. He kissed me goodnight and then went to use the bathroom. I fell asleep. Sometime in the night I woke up again. Don't know why. His side of the bed was empty but the light was on under the bathroom door. I got up to check on him.” Her jaw trembled and this time she couldn't keep it from affecting her words. “There was... blood...” A tear slid down her nose. “He... he-he'd... cut his throat...” 

She'd stilled, now, sitting back and releasing his mouth. Stephen gasped, heart throbbing. Her other hand, however, remained tight around delicate anatomy.

“Please. Stop...” His voice shivered; and then he gagged as her fingers clamped down – twisting just a little.

“You may have been a king in this castle, once upon a time. You may have had subjects willing to kneel for you and take your shit and act as though your word was law but, know this...” her hand squeezed again and Stephen nearly vomited as the pain washed all color from his vision, “you don't have that same power, any longer. Everyone knows who you are. Every wrong you've committed; you are going to have to answer for.” Her thumb rubbed against him and he sank his teeth deep into his lip. “You do not have friends here, Doctor. And, in case you haven't realized it yet? You are vulnerable.” With a final jerk of her wrist, she let him go.

She stood and peeled her gloves while Stephen closed his eyes and quaked against the thin mattress. Cold flushed across his skin and made his fine hairs stand on end. He listened to the steps retreating. Listened for the door to open. It didn't. Tense, he rolled his eyes to the right, a full body shudder moving violently through his limbs. 

Her hand was on the bar handle – her eyes downturned. “He was everything to me...” She licked her lips; bloodless with a gleam of sweat beneath her nose. Her mouth opened and shut, twice – her voice, when it came, stripped of emotion. “Report me. It doesn't matter.” She shrugged, pulling open the door. “I don't have anything left.”

And she was gone.

Rolling on his side, he vomited.

His next bed check wasn't due for two hours. 

Stephen didn't, couldn't, move after she had gone – gown still flung open and bedding disheveled. In spite of the morphine his whole body throbbed in pain. His hands, for once, not the greatest source of agony. The thought of being found like this, however, was unconscionable. 

Dragging his right arm across bedding that suddenly felt like brambles against his aching hand, Stephen hooked clawed fingers around the edge of his blanket. Hissing as he forced his fingers to bend, just enough, he pulled. It took several tries, his grip just not strong enough, before he was finally able to cover himself.

It was a bit longer before the distressing need, coiling in his abdomen, started to fade. He gasped out a sob as his body began to relax – brushing a stiff knuckle at the slipping wet trailing into his hairline. He considered his options. He needed to report her, clearly. He considered alerting security before immediately dismissing it. He could request a meeting with the board. He still had a reputation, shaky though it may be. His word still carried weight.

But the idea of explaining this...

He'd be believed. He didn't doubt it. But how long before hospital gossip spread it around like a stain?

He needed time to think.

He needed...

Christine.

In that moment, like a fever, he needed her desperately.

He'd never been more grateful for the voice activation feature on his phone.

She was there within twenty minutes.

Her knock waited for his acknowledgement before she opened the door. Her gentleness and warmth washed over him in vibrant contrast to the cold that had filled the room until that moment. He breathed it in; metal coils easing away from his throat at her greeting. 

She stopped in the middle of removing her coat. She had obviously spotted the puddle of vomit, next to his bed. “Oh, sweetheart. Let me get someone to help clean that up.” It only took about ten minutes – Christine resting, on the edge of the bed, after the mop and bucket were wheeled out of the room. She wiped his face with a wash cloth and helped him rinse out his mouth before holding a straw close to his mouth to drink.

He winced as he laid back against his pillow – unable to stifle a groan.

Christine rested her fingers, briefly, on his wrist. Habit. However, when she lifted a hand to his hair, he flinched. 

“Stephen, what's wrong?”

He closed his eyes at the confusion he'd triggered – swallowing with a jagged bob of his throat.

“Nothing. Nothing it's...” He shook his head. “They hurt more; tonight.” He raised his hands – letting her see the rough tremors, before sinking them back into his lap. His eyes lifted to hers, then; a tear sliding down his cheek. However, he didn't pull back when she used her thumb to wipe it away – her hand resting against his jaw, warm, for a moment longer.

“Please stay...”

She nodded, smiling. “Okay.”

~~~~~ ۞ 2 Years Later ۞ ~~~~~

The small boy patted his cheeks with both hands. He couldn't have been much more the three at most but seemed completely unperturbed at gliding, through the air, thirty feet above the ground.

“Are you I'on Man?” 

Stephen grimaced – feeling the amused ripple through the collar of the cloak.

“No, I'm not Iron Man.” Nearing the boy's residence, he pivoted his feet towards the sidewalk. Thankfully it was still early enough that there were few pedestrians around. He was okay with that. Okay with not being the center of attention.

“But you c'n fly!”

He shrugged as they touched down and he adjusted his hold on the wriggling child. “Well, so can Thor and Vision.” The house was just a block away. He chose to walk the rest of the distance – enjoying the warmth of the morning and the sharp smell of Autumn. 

The boy tipped his head – face alarmingly close to Stephen's eye. “Who are you?”

Behind him, the cloak batted at a drift of crisp red leaves.

“I'm... a doctor.” Reticence never used to be in his nature. Humility had never been a skillset worth nurturing. More and more, however, he was finding value in those quiet moments – meditation with Wong, walks through peaceful realms without threat of danger, a cup of coffee and a hot sandwich from Delmar's while reading the paper...

“My mom's a doctor!” The loud exclamation brought him out of his thoughts as they neared the kid's door. “Do you know my mom?” 

Stephen shifted the kid to his other hip while reaching for the doorbell. “I don't know, sweetie. Who is your mom?” The chime was still echoing when rapid steps, inside, approached the door. Yanked open, the figure inside launched herself out onto the cement landing.

“Jayden! Oh God, where did you find him!? Are you okay, baby?” 

“He's just fine.” Stephen assured the women – reaching out a hand to ruffle the boy's dark curls. “Luckily he found his way to my... place. I was more than happy to bring him home.” 

Her face buried against the boy's cheek, the woman sucked in a stabilizing breath. “God, sweetheart; don't do that to mommy!” She lifted her face – eyes wet. “Thank you so much, Mist...” She gasped.

Stephen froze. The easy reply, oh, it was no trouble, became a hard swallow.

His voice had no strength. “Alicia...”

How long they may have stayed that way, Stephen couldn't guess. He could stare down an eldritch horror from a dimension that was, for all intents and purposes, Hell. But, faced with this small woman, he couldn't stop the tremors in his hands from suddenly worsening. 

“Who's that at the door? Is it Jayden? Did they find him?” An older woman rounded the corner, behind Alicia; her face shining when she spotted the child. “Oh, honey! Welcome home, baby! Come give grammy a hug!” Reaching out, she lifted the boy from Alicia's hold – bear hugging him against her breasts. The boy immediately grabbed handfuls of her long, grey braids.

“Momma, take Jayden inside, could you, please?” Her quiet manner was more than enough to alert the older woman; who gripped her grandson close while eying Stephen with wary alertness. “Licia, what's wrong?”

Turning towards her mother, Alicia rubbed her fingers against Jayden's cheek. “Nothing is wrong. I just want to thank... this man... for finding him.” There must have been enough reassurance to console the grandmother because she turned to take the child indoors – though, not without a long look at Stephen and, apparently, seeing his outfit for the first time. She nodded to him, but didn't smile. As the door eased shut, Jayden's voice filtered out – high pitched in glee. “Grammy, I flyed!”

Composure pulled around him more tightly than the cloak, Stephen took the three steps down to the sidewalk – creating several feet of space before Alicia followed. The moment she reached the cracked pavement he turned from her and began to walk.

“What's wrong. Can't even say my name?” Her steps continued behind him. He wasn't expecting an answer. In spite of that, she spoke – voice just as subdued as it had been back at her house.

“I don't know what to say, actually. I sure as hell didn't expect to see you again outside of a courtroom. I've thought of it... what I'd done... every single day. I've tried to figure out who that person was. What I did I... That isn't who I am...”

Stopping, Stephen spun towards her – anger pounding in his chest. “I've done everything in my power not to think about that day! I know I was a bastard – I know I mistreated the people around me and I've spent years trying to make up for that! I've had a lot of pain that I know I deserved but what you did...” His eyebrows lifted as the memories he'd dodged suddenly flooded to life. Turning away, he crossed a dead street to a chain link fence separating the neighborhood from an empty lot. A burned out car sat in the middle of scattered trash and rubble – the doors painted with bright graffiti.

The cloak waved back and forth in spite of the lack of wind. He knew its mood – the motion comparable to a cat lashing its tail.

“Why didn't you report me?”

Stephen kept his back to her. His fingers hooked into the fence; watching what was visible of the city from his vantage point.

Pebbles crunched under her feet but she didn't approach. “What I did was so... stupid... and ugly and... cruel. One word and I'd have been fired; probably thrown in jail. I'd have... they would have taken my kid away from me...” She shuddered a breath. “And I would have deserved it.”

Stephen tightened his jaw when his lips trembled. Within seconds he could be in Kamar Taj. He could be standing on the rooftop of the temple with the sun warm on his shoulders – the chimes hanging in Wong's herb garden the only sound. He closed his eyes and breathed. And breathed. He looked at the burned car. “I had every intention of reporting you. Every day, for a week, I asked myself why I hadn't done so, yet. I wondered if I'd had it coming; maybe I'd just had it coming. Maybe it was some sort of penance.” Back at the Sanctum, Wong would be preparing tea. He could sit next to the fireplace... meditate... “I thought of the repercussions, should I go forward with it. In the end, I had too much to lose. An investigation would have put everything else on hold. I couldn't afford the delay that an inquiry would have required.” 

Gravel squeaked beneath her boots; her stance shifting from one hip to the other. “I don't deserve forgiveness.”

“No, you don't.” Stephen ran his fingers along the hem of the cloak – the heavy fabric pressing back against his hand. “And I'm not going to give it.” He finally turned back towards her. Her face was stiff, though red had sunk into the hollows of her eyes. “If you want redemption you're going to have to find that within yourself. I cannot offer you that. You'll either work for it or you won't.” 

Alicia hugged herself – eyes flicking his direction before looking back down the street; towards her house. “Well I have a damn good reason to try.”

Stephen slammed his fist against the fence pole; the uncontrolled burst of magic flaring gold at the point of impact and staggering Alicia several feet backwards. “You had that reason before! And you still chose to assault me! Don't you dare make your child the tipping point between light and dark! If you truly want to be better you'll do it because it's right!” 

Her eyes were wide; terrified, now. Stephen managed a step towards her. “After today, you will not see me again. But don't, for one instant, believe that I'll have forgotten you.” At his back, the cloak spread around his form. Alicia covered her mouth with both hands.

“Oh my God... what...?”

“Go home to your son. Go back to your life, Alicia.”

Terrified, she stumbled back before starting to run. After three steps she stopped; turning her head without meeting his eyes. “I'm sorry...” He watched until she was out of sight.

The wild wind that had been building around him faded to nothing. As though behind a forcefield, the sounds of voices and traffic hummed in the distance. Just one street over there was a hotdog vendor, and taxis picking up fares; people laughing, yelling, chatting together... But, on this street, the only living thing was himself. 

The collar of the cloak pressed against him. He nudged a fingertip along the stiff hem. “Okay; yeah, you're right.” He blinked; squeezing his eyes tight until the burn ebbed back. “Time to go.”

A circle of gold opened before him; a burning whirlpool of fire with enough energy to scatter the loose debris that had drifted to the base of the fence. One moment he was in Queens. One step later, he was in the Sanctum – tension only beginning to slip away once the portal closed.

“How is the child?”

His shoulders jerked and he turned – spotting Wong emerging from the kitchen carrying a tray with a small teapot and two cups. In a place of safety, now, the cloak lifted from his shoulders and glided towards the fireplace. It appeared to love the heat and had a habit of draping itself near the blaze whenever it wasn't otherwise needed.

Stephen joined the sentient garment; holding out his shaking fingers towards the baking warmth. “He's fine. He's back home.” 

He must have been watching the flames for some time – he really hadn't been tracking the minutes, as such. When Wong stepped up alongside him, a cup in hand, Stephen sucked in a deep breath through his nose and turned. “Thanks.”

He inhaled, first; just enjoying the aroma. Huh... He lifted an eyebrow towards Wong, who smiled.

“Gu Zhang Mao Jian. It's from the Ancient One's personal stock. She would brew this for anyone facing difficulty. When you'd first arrived at Kamar Taj, this was the tea she'd offered to you.” 

The sudden heat in his eyes made him clutch the cup a little more tightly. They sipped together and watched the fire. When their cups were empty, Wong took the tray back to the kitchen. When he returned, he stood alongside Stephen and watched the dance of light play across the stone mantle.

“Something troubles you.”

“It's fine.” The fire snapped and the cloak shimmied a few inches back from the hearth.

Folding his hands together, Wong lifted and eyebrow in Stephen's direction. “There is an ancient text that proclaims, “You've got troubles, and I've got them too. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you. We stick together and can see it through; because you've got a friend in me.””

Stephen belly laughed hard enough that he bent in half. It took a few moments to recover but, when he did, he rubbed at the mirth induced tears. “Okay, since when did Randy Newman count as a source of ancient wisdom?”

Wong smiled. “There is much wisdom that can be found in song lyrics; as I'm certain you would know.” He placed a hand against Stephen's shoulder. “Sometimes one needs to overcome a burden with meditation. However, I have found that, through the years, the more expedient path often involves discussing that burden with someone willing to listen.”

Stephen ran his fingertips across the knuckles of his left hand. “Now you're advocating for the expedient path? We may need to cancel your iTunes subscription.”

Without a sound, Wong settled himself into one of the nearby armchairs. Glancing at the other man, Stephen finally capitulated; taking the other chair; unsurprised when the cloak slid itself across his lap. The fire warmed fabric triggered a wonderful full body shudder. He opened his mouth, but closed it before he could form a word.

He had never found it easy to talk about... anything. He hadn't talked to Christine about the car accident. He hadn't talked with Wong about Dormammu; other than the most watered down version of events. Enough to assure him that the entity would not be returning. He tapped his fingertips. Maybe... Maybe talking about this... would be a place to start...

“Not... uh... not long after my accident... something happened. A woman came into my room, late in the evening...” 

Wong listened, as he'd said he would. His expression revealed nothing, not that it mattered; Stephen's attention remained almost exclusively turned towards his hands as they ran across the folds of the cloak. Eidetic memory allowed him to share details that even recent victims may have had trouble recalling. No surprise that he struggled with describing the assault; there was a reason he'd tried his best to bury it, after all. What he hadn't anticipated was the physical reaction. There was a moment, in talking about the worst part; suffocating while she'd twisted him in a knot of agony and unwelcome arousal, that he hunched forward drenched in icy sweat; stomach an oil slick of nausea. In that moment, Wong left his chair to kneel beside him – reminding him of his surroundings and safety – until the symptoms abated.

They sat, then, for many minutes afterward, once he'd reached the end.

Rocking his lower lip between his teeth, Stephen angled his gaze left. “So... now, what words of wisdom do you have for me? 

Breathing in and out, twice, deeply, Wong rose to his feet with the sharp snap of tendons. “Pastrami.”

“Pastrami?”

Wong jerked his chin. “Come on.”

Stephen narrowed his eyes, lips downturned. “What? Where am I going?”

Holding out a hand, Wong smiled. “Do not pout. It's unbecoming for the Master of the Sanctum Sanctorum.” He gestured his fingers. “Now stand up. I'm going to buy you lunch.”

Snorting, Stephen nudged the cloak from his lap and stood. Allowing him to rise, the yards of heavy cloth whooshed up to settle on his shoulders. “Please. Since when do you have money.”

Shrugged, Wong led them towards the door. “I have enough.” He grinned. “Though, we may need to share.”

Following his friend out of the Sanctum, Stephen tugged his collar high around his cheeks. “Sure. I don't mind sharing.”

Not anymore.


End file.
